PostPartum

You know, health really matters on so many levels. As a mom, of course I want the best for my kids. But honestly? There are a million ways things can go sideways, both for us and for them.

Looking back now, I’m pretty sure I had postpartum depression after both my kids were born. At the time, I just chalked it up to being overwhelmed – you know, trying to balance work and suddenly having this tiny person depending on you. I figured I was just exhausted from breastfeeding, which, fair enough, I definitely was.

But man, going back to work after my first baby was brutal. I did everything I could think of to make it smooth. I had four weeks of maternity leave, then another four weeks where I could work from home doing research. I started taking call again at four weeks postpartum – I was a pediatric endocrinology fellow, so being on call meant I could mostly work from home instead of going to the hospital.

Except I’d get called like 20 times overnight. Picture me trying to breastfeed while basically clenched with anxiety, knowing my pager could go off any second. Not exactly the peaceful bonding experience you imagine, right? And when calls did come in, I had to call back pretty quickly – sometimes literally while I was still nursing.

Then there was the whole bottle situation. Even though I’d been giving my baby one bottle a day since he was born, at 10 weeks he suddenly decided bottles were disgusting. Only direct-from-source would do. We tried everything – different bottles, different nipples, having my husband do all the feeding. We even did this thing called “bottle boot camp” where I’d leave for hours until he finally took a bottle from dad. And get this – we had to start scalding my pumped milk because apparently he didn’t like the slightly sour taste that develops when it sits.

I cried every single day driving to and from the hospital. Rush hour traffic, an hour each way, and all I wanted was to get back to my baby. The daycare couldn’t figure out how to get him to nap properly, so I’d end up nursing all night to make up for what he missed during the day.

Why was I so stressed about everything? Why couldn’t I just relax and trust that he’d be okay? Why did I feel like I was the only person who could take care of him properly? Why did it feel like I had to choose between being a good doctor and being a good mom? Was this really what I’d been waiting for my whole life?

Around his first birthday, suddenly bottles weren’t the enemy anymore. I kept pumping until he was 16 months, then finally weaned him. Looking back, I don’t think it had to be that hard. I probably could have found easier solutions if I’d just asked for help.

It took me a while to decide to have a second kid. And when my second baby came along, he was incredibly demanding. Every three hours, like clockwork, he wanted to eat. Until he was 16 months old, he never slept through the night – not even with sleep training. I was completely exhausted, and honestly? I resented him for it. That made it really hard to bond with him in any meaningful way until he got older.

It’s painful to admit that, but it’s true. I wish I’d just acknowledged that postpartum depression and anxiety were playing a huge role in how miserable I felt that first year after each of my kids was born. And I definitely should have pushed for more maternity leave. The patients would have been just fine without me for a few more weeks.